


simple and clean

by microcosmo



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Boys Being Silly, Fluff, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, soft and gentle feelings all around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23541187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/microcosmo/pseuds/microcosmo
Summary: falling in love is simple. gathering courage is not.
Relationships: Hop/Masaru | Victor
Comments: 27
Kudos: 125





	simple and clean

**Author's Note:**

> a little dialogue heavy but short sweet and simple fluff.

Realizing he’s been in love with Victor for the better half of a decade is as simple and mundane as actually falling in love with him.

There’s no grand revelation, no dramatic build up. Love rivals don’t burst out of the hedges demanding he stay away from Galar’s reigning champion, nor do they bombard him with confidence shaking remarks about his looks or personality or occupation (which would be a rather fruitless endeavor considering he’s _great_ at doing that to himself).

There are no instances of misguided jealousy, love dodecahedrons or fleeing into the night, thunderstorm raging above as he refuses to accept the possibility of feeling anything but bitter animosity towards his sworn rival.

There’s not even a convoluted plot line involving keys and lockets and promises made by their ancient ancestors promising to meet again in the form of their great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandchildren!

Hop would be lying if he said he wasn’t a _little_ disappointed, but that may just be the countless romance novels he’s been indulging in whenever Sonia isn’t in the lab to tease him about them talking. They aren’t a benchmark for realism by any means, which might explain his misplaced exasperation by the idea that _no_ , he _wasn’t_ going to sweep or be swept off his feet and carried off into the sunset atop a majestic and shiny Rapidash a second after discovering how deep his feelings ran, because real people didn’t _do_ that.

 _Hop_ would never do that.

What Hop _does_ do, is agree to have Victor over at the lab for a cuppa.

He doesn’t abide by a strict timetable besides the occasions he and Sonia are in crunch mode, but Victor’s schedule isn’t as forgiving. Leon’s made a pointed effort to never overwhelm him with photoshoots, television specials, exhibition matches and the like the way he once was, but it’s still a challenge to find any time to spend together where its just them and no crew of cameramen or rabid fans in their general vicinity.

So _yeah_ , Hop agrees. He needs his fix (of both caffeine _and_ Vic) and he’s damn well going to get it.

They meet at Wedgehurst Station. Hop knows he doesn’t _need_ to go pick him up, but there’s something immensely satisfying about watching Victor take his first steps onto the platform, bag slung over his shoulder as he glances around as curiously as he did the first time they took off for the wild area.

Maybe its nostalgia, maybe its habit, but seeing his friend’s eyes light up with recognition, the graceful way he walks towards Hop, lips curved in a secretive smile reserved for him and him alone is enough to set his heart racing. Victor greets him with a slight nod, ever the silent type, and they head over to the lab.

They chat. Or rather, _Hop_ does while Victor listens and nods occasionally, giving one or two syllable input every now and again. He talks about his research and Pokémon, how Dubwool’s fluffiness is still all it takes to get him to sleep after a long day’s work or how Sonia’s a few experiments away from a breakthrough in Dynamax Theory or how he’s still trying to get the hang of that Kalosian recipe Victor’s mum wrote down for him the other day. It’s minor, inconsequential stuff that he can’t help but mention to Victor, who’s away so often he’ll go months without a home cooked meal or talks that don’t directly relate to his title.

It’s then that it hits him.

He’s nattering on about Zamazenta getting stuck in a fence for the _umpteenth_ time, when he looks up and just…stops. Hop trails off, the rest of his words disappearing into the peaceful quiet of the lab.

Across from him, Victor is pouring himself another cup of coffee (no milk, no sugar, the _madman_ ), clutching the Budew themed mug Sonia bought for him a few years back.

Nothing extraordinary. Just a guy unflinchingly glugging down a scalding hot beverage.

It’s the way Victor’s lashes flutter, contentment sweeping across his expression. The way his slender fingers are curled around his mug, nails trimmed and glossy. How windswept his hair is, the faintest of circles beneath his eyes, how cozy he looks in the oversized pullover littered with his sponsors.

It’s in his eyes.

Hop reads a lot of poetry (a fact he prefers to keep to himself since the last time he brought it up, Sonia refused to let up on her cooing on how adorable he was), but he’s pretty sure he’s never come across a single instance of prose that could properly incapsulate what resided within Victor’s eyes, which was saying a lot considering the amount of verse that existed entrenched in saccharine observations relating to eye color and their mysterious and oh so wondrous depths.

Victor’s eyes surpass color theory and the laws of nature. They aren’t _just_ brown. They’re mocha and caramel and tawny. Syrupy and cedar-like, with hints of cinnamon, auburn, and hickory. Like the triple decker fudge deluxe they always share at the battle café, because he can never get enough of it and Victor simply enjoys indulging Hop’s sweet tooth.

And sometimes, like now, they’re nearly golden, as sunlight breaches the kitchenette’s window, bathing Galar’s champion in an almost ethereal glow.

Victor is beautiful. In looks and character. Kind and caring, considerate to everyone, always willing to lend a helping hand. He’s perceptive and clever, capable of thinking on his feet, open to new ideas and criticism. His patience in particular is unmatched. Hop would know. He’s been blessed with it time and time again, even when he hasn’t fully deserved it.

He’s _perfect_. Hop often contemplates how fortunate he is to have someone so wonderful in his life. He doesn’t think he’s done a thing to deserve it, but he cherishes it anyway.

His smiles and laughter, exasperated sighs and teasing remarks, Victor’s always had a special warmth to him, the kind that seeps into Hop’s bones and sticks around even after they’ve parted ways.

Selfish as it sounds, he wishes he could have more of it. To carry it with him always. To have _Victor_ near him always.

That’d be nice.

They could battle and joke around. Talk for hours on end instead of in between breaks. Camp out under the stars, share silly stories while smothering giggles into their pillows. They could fall silent, conversation lulling comfortably. Hop could tentatively lace their fingers together. Victor would be surprised, because they haven’t held hands since they were kids, but it wouldn’t be the bad kind of surprise. It would be good and Victor would smile and snuggle closer to him and Hop would—

Hop would what?

Oh, he thinks. _Oh_.

“Are you all right?”

The distant sound of Victor’s measured tone snaps him out of his musings. He doesn’t even look _real_ as he sits there, all aglow under the sunlight, regarding Hop with confusion because he’s been staring at him for the past few minutes without saying a word and that’s a weird thing to do when they were having a conversation only moments ago.

“You seem distracted.” Victor states.

“I do?” Hop asks dumbly, because he knows damn well what’s been distracting him and it isn’t those reports pending filing on his desk. “I’m not.”

“You aren’t?” Victor smiles in that infuriatingly secretive manner he’s been indulging in as of late. Hop would like to know why he seems so pleased, but trying to needle Victor is like trying to get Zamazenta to understand they _aren’t_ a Wooloo and therefore cannot exploit the same fencing dead zones Wooloo can.

In other words, _impossible_.

“No.” Hop says, with the knowledge he was and still _is_ very distracted. “I stopped talking ‘cause I figured what I was saying wasn’t all that interesting.”

Victor’s smile drops.

“It _is_ interesting.” The champion tells him firmly, offering no room for rebuttal. Hop doesn’t have it in him to argue. They’ve had this conversation a million times. Victor’s never been fond of his self-depreciative ways. “I’d like it if you kept talking, because I like hearing you speak.”

“Like static noise?” Hop tries for a joke. Victor remains unamused. He sighs. “ _Right_ , then. Sorry about that, mate. Head was in the clouds, I guess.”

“Something important on your mind?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.” Except that Hop thinks he’s attractive and cute and wants to hold his hand.

“If you say so.” Victor replies, blissfully unaware of Hop’s sudden life-changing discovery. “Now, what was that about Dubwool and Zamazenta chasing off those Thievul?”

Hop tells him all about those sly Thievuls who tried to make off with his family’s prized Wooloo. All too happily, in fact.

It’s much easier than trying to explain that he’s realized he’s kinda sorta head over heels in love with his best friend and rival.

* * *

The issue with being in love is that it feels messy and weird and _embarrassing_.

His face flushes constantly, his heart beats a little _too_ rapidly, and his focus is starting to dwindle down into an unacceptable haze of _huhs_ and _what did you says_ and _sonia please don’t threaten me with rolled up dissertation_ s _you know it scares me._

Basically, he has no idea what to do about it.

Hop’s got no experience, no prior knowledge to fall back on besides afternoon telly dramas and books. He tries to scavenge for any useful forums on the topic, but unfortunately they are inundated with less than helpful advice like ‘ _be honest and go for it_ ’ and ‘ _lol rest in pieces_.’

Needless to say, Hop is torn.

On one hand, telling Victor how he feels is _scary_. If he’s rejected, he doubts he’ll be able to look him in the eye and continue on like nothing’s happened. Hop’s managed plenty of existential hardship, but losing his best friend isn’t something he can bear, at least not when he’s finally managed to sorta come to terms with who he is and who he wants to be.

On the _other_ hand, he’s not keen on bumbling about like a moron while risking Victor being swept away by someone who isn’t him.

Hop isn’t dense. He’s aware a large part of the young adult population have their eyes set on Galar’s Champion, if the thirsty threads on Tweeter and PokéGram aren’t enough to make that clear.

There are plenty of people who could stand by Victor, support him, encourage him, make him into a better version of himself. People who could make him smile, make him laugh. People he would be proud to have at his side.

People who are worthy of him.

Hop doesn’t know if he could ever consider himself one of those people. The confidence he held in spades as a child has yet to make its return, despite the years since that fateful battle with Bede (who wasn’t so bad when he wasn’t being a total _twat_.) Sometimes, he still doesn’t know what it is he wants and whether what he’s doing now will still be the answer in ten, twenty years time.

Victor doesn’t deserve someone indecisive and anxious. The person he decides to spoil with his affection should be confident and strong, reliable and clever.

Hop…isn’t that.

Still, living with regrets doesn’t sound all that swell. Isn’t it better to have loved and lost and all that?

He doesn’t know.

“Maybe I should get an internship in Unova and pretend I’m not a coward.”

That earns him a nudge in the side. Dubwool doesn’t like it when he speaks badly about himself. Hop doesn’t either, but he can’t help it sometimes. It’s easier to do that than to _face_ his insecurities.

“Sorry.” He says, hugging the ball of fluff closer. Beneath them, Zamazenta stirs, their crimson fur tickling Hop’s nose, earning a light giggle out of him. “I won’t. Run away to Unova, I mean. I don’t think mum would be too happy if I did that. Neither would Sonia. She’s expecting my report on the Munna populations in the Slumbering Weald soon.”

Dubwool lets out a pleased _bah._

Hop smiles weakly, picking at the blades of grass brushing his fingertips. Usually, Postwick’s peaceful afternoons would bring him solace. Now, it does nothing to do away with the iron ball resting at the pit of his stomach.

“What should I do?” He asks, burying his face into Zamazenta’s warm, silky smooth coat. “I know I should tell him, but I’m scared. We hardly see each other as it is. What if he…what if Vic never wants to see me again?” Tears prick at eyes, the thought of never seeing his friend again enough to overwhelm him with misery. “What if he hates me?”

Sensing his distress, Zamazenta curls further inward, nuzzling Hop’s cheek affectionately. Dubwool joins in, playfully nipping at his hands.

Hop knows he’s being irrational. Victor wouldn’t hate him for having a crush on him. He would never begrudge or resent him for it either. He’d reject him gently, because Victor’s _always_ been gentle with him. When they were children, during their challenge, after every loss against him. _Always_.

Hop almost hopes Victor will get angry and say something horrible to him. At least then he wouldn’t have to face those sorrowful, pitying eyes, apologizing for his inability to reciprocate while trying to make Hop feel like he isn’t a total loser.

Hop releases a shaky sigh.

“Sorry.” He apologizes again. “I shouldn’t be overreacting like this. I should…I should tell him. However he responds, I’ll respect it and…move on. I guess.” He sniffles. “Tons of wishiwashi in the sea, right?”

Dubwool and Zamazenta nod fervently.

“Right.” Hop sits up. He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Let’s, um, send him a text? I’ll ask when he’s free and if we can meet. That’s a good start, I think.”

Dubwool settles in beside him, peeking at his phone screen. Zamazenta rests their head on Hop’s shoulder, curious about the conversation about to unfold.

Hop steels himself and pulls up his messages.

**_Hop_ **

_hey vic can i ask you something?_

Dubwool pouts.

“Too bland?” Hop inquires with a tilt of his head. “I want it to sound natural.”

His explanation does nothing to please his partner. Dubwool rocks forward, the tip of his nose tapping against the phone. Hop watches with horror as a stream of emojis are sent and successfully delivered, Postwick’s horrible signal for _once_ not saving him from himself.

😈 😈 🤬🤬😈 😈 👎👎

“You did _not_ just do that.”

Dubwool turns gleefully to Zamazenta, who could not look more enthralled by his bold action. As if to add on to his terror, he gets a response almost immediately.

**_Victor_ **

_?_

_what did i do_

_???_

**_Hop_ **

_nothing!!_

_fluff monster is being a goof_ 😥

**_Victor_ **

_lol no worries_

_what’s up_

“Oh god, I didn’t think this far ahead.” Hop frets. “Should I—But he’ll—Maybe if I—?”

Thankfully, his panicking is cut off, because a series of rapid fire texts hit him all at once.

**_Victor_ **

_actually_

_was wondering if you were free this weekend?_

_i’m off_

_so_

_wanna hang out?_

_if you can_

_?_

“Yes.” Hop responds, before realizing Victor can’t hear him.

**_Hop_ **

_sure!_

_anywhere specific?_

_i can come up to Wyndon_

**_Victor_ **

_you don’t have to_

**_Hop_ **

_i don’t mind!_

_maybe we can drop in on lee while I’m there_

**_Victor_ **

_ugh_

**_Hop_ **

_?_

**_Victor_ **

_nothing_

_that’s fine_

_meet you at the station?_

**_Hop_ **

_sounds good_

👍

**_Victor_ **

_cool_

_see you then_

💖

“That…sorta worked itself out.” Hop leans back with a sigh. “This’ll be a good opportunity to tell him. What do you two think?”

Zamazenta licks his cheek. Dubwool settles his head on Hop’s lap.

As good as settled, it seemed. Hop would put on his bravest face yet, because there wasn’t any turning back on this.

He would face Victor head on, whatever that entailed.

* * *

“You look tired.” Are Victor’s first words to him the moment he steps off the platform. Not exactly flattering, but not untrue.

“Didn’t sleep very well.” A night spent tossing and turning, running over scenario after scenario of heartbreaking conclusions before nodding off for a total of fifteen minutes, only for his alarm to go off wasn’t how he saw things panning out. Hop was running on nothing but the coffee his mother set out for him that morning, her sympathetic expression somehow managing to make him feel even worse than he already did.

He didn’t know _how_ , but he _knew_ that _she_ knew.

The ‘ _go get him sweetheart’_ comment may have given her away.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Not at all. I’m starved.”

“Let’s start with that.” Victor easily grabs his hand, tugging him forward. A part of Hop flutters with excitement, while the other laments his friend’s inability to be fazed by anything. “I know a place with good fry up.”

It _is_ a good fry up.

Hop enjoys it so much in fact, he forgets his sleep deprivation and eternal pining in favor of shoveling as much as he can of it into his mouth. A distant part of him realizes he must look like a rabid zigzagoon, gorging as much as he is, but his stomach’s never usually listened to his brain when it came to sustenance and he’s never had much reason to try and put up a proper and polite front with Victor.

“You look like a skwovet.”

“I know.” Hop swallows around a particularly large bite. “Sonia says I’m mimicking their behavioral patterns as a byproduct of constant exposure.”

“Cute.”

“Not really. They’re ravenous and rude and like to harass our Wooloo. I don’t care for them at all.”

“What comparison would you prefer?”

“Uh, Wooloo? Or Alcremie. But definitely Wooloo.”

“Favoritism.”

“No shame.” Hop laughs. “And if we’re talking about comparisons, I guess you’re like a Minccino.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“ _No_.”

“ _Yes_. Your PR team can try for Gallade all they want. I know the _truth_.”

“I don’t _have_ a Gallade.” Victor mutters under his breath. “They _know_ that.”

“The ‘mysterious savior of Galar’ image is kinda hard to shake off, huh?”

“You were there, too.”

“Guess I was.” Hop washes everything down with a particularly acidic berry juice. “How’ve things been? I saw you on the telly the other night. They were really having at you, weren’t they?”

“I thought it was funny.” Victor shrugs. “I’ve been invited to roast other people plenty. It’s only fair.”

“You’ve nerves of steel, mate.” Hop cannot fathom how anyone could participate in a show exclusively designed to make fun of every aspect of their existence, but then, he wouldn’t have made a good champion for a _reason_. “I don’t think I could handle it, even if I know it’s all for fun.”

“It’s impossible to roast you.” Victor says. “It’s a federal crime.”

“Is it?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“Oh. Well, what else have you been up to?”

“Training. Battles.” A grimace appears on the champion’s face. “Can’t complain but. That’s it.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of, Vic. I think we’re all in the same boat.”

“Have you…?”

“Hm?” Hop sets his fork down. “Have I what?”

“Have you.” Victor licks his lips. He seems nervous, which Hop doesn’t understand, given he was fine a few moments ago. “Met anyone?”

“Have I met anyone? Like, you mean, new or…?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I _was_ at Hammerlocke U the other day.” A terribly busy yet rewarding day. Raihan managed to reserve a spot for him at an exclusive seminar (the perks of being a doted upon brother-in-law), which was _very_ nice. “Usually when I go with Sonia, there’s a lot of older, distinguished researchers around, but since this was a uni students thing, there were tons of people my age. It was—I don’t know—nice? I guess? Just. To know there’re other people interested in the same things I am, I mean. I know I shouldn’t care but…knowing I’m not an oddball feels nice.” Hop scratches his cheek sheepishly. “Sorry, this probably sounds really sad.”

“No.” Victor settles his hand upon Hop’s. “It’s not. I’m happy for you.”

“Heh, thanks.” Hop grins, fruitlessly fighting down the flush assailing his cheeks. “I, uh, I want you to know I’m fine. I’m having fun. I know battling was all I used to go on about and I know you still feel guilty about, well, _everything_ , but really, I-I like this me better.”

Because while this Hop doesn’t shout his future championship out to the heavens nor prattle on about how much of an expert he is at tossing pokéballs, this version of him _isn’t_ struggling to keep up with his brother or anyone else anymore.

This Hop is going at his own pace and doing what _he_ wants to do, not what he expects everyone to want from him.

He’s happy, even if he’s not always sure of himself, but Sonia says that’s enough for now. Professor Magnolia tells him he’s certainly on the right track. His mum loves and supports him, and so does his brother, who embarrassingly enough, won’t stop going on and on about him at the Battle Tower, to the point where the staff can recount each and every one of his milestones by heart because Lee _won’t shut up about them_.

And Vic?

“I’m happy.” His best friend tells him, eyes lighting up wonderfully. “If you are. That’s all that matters. To me.”

“Thanks.” Hop returns the sentiment with a watery smile. “Same. Are you, uh, happy?”

“Relatively. I just do what I want. Besides my image.”

“Maybe I should give them a call and open their eyes to the Minccino theory?”

“Please don’t.”

* * *

They stop by a few stores afterwards.

When in Wyndon, window shop and ogle all the expensive clothing you can’t afford.

That’s what they say, at least.

Not that Victor has any qualms about price tags.

“I want that jacket.”

“You already have one like that.”

“I want another one.”

“In a different color?”

“The same.”

“Why—You know what, never mind.” Hop sighs, turning his attention to another rack of clothing while his friend decides which of the three same colored leather jackets matched the one he was already wearing better. He wasn’t one to tell anyone how to spend their money, but he had to wonder what went through Victor’s head when he was shopping. For all that he played the part of a disinterested, apathetic champion, he certainly had an uncompromising fashion sense. “Get a pair of boots, too. You said you needed new ones, right?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Shove off.”

Ultimately, they leave a few bags heavier. Victor doesn’t wait to switch out his identical jackets for whatever reason. Hop loathes to look at the receipt.

“Wanna go to the park?” Victor asks. There’s something peculiar about the way he says it that tells Hop all he needs to know. “I hear there’s something going on today.”

Naturally, that something is local battle fair.

The moment they step foot onto the children infested turf, Victor’s eyes light up with a familiar, determined glint. Hop doesn’t know whether his heart is beating with awe and inspiration or dread, because once Victor gets absorbed in battle, that spells ruin for a peaceful afternoon.

“One battle. Two tops.” He states firmly. Victor regards him with despair. “I get it. I do. But I _don’t_ want to spend my day battling in Wyndon. We’ll be here till midnight, and I’d really rather not be.”

“Fine. Three.”

“Two.”

“ _Three_.”

“I said _two_.”

“Three? Please?”

“ _Fine_.”

He actually partakes in five. Two of them are doubles, which Victor unceremoniously drags him into. Dubwool doesn’t have a problem with it, always happy to fight by the side of the sassiest Roserade in all of Galar. The two have been thick as thieves since their time as a rowdy Wooloo-Budew pair.

All in all, it’s a fun time, despite the fact that they’re noticed almost immediately, doing away with any anonymity they might have had.

“Bye everyone.” Victor waves to the small crowd surrounding them, earning cheers all around. “Gotta go or I’m in trouble.”

“Take him away, professor!”

“Listen to your honey, champ!”

“Battling ain’t good for relationships!”

“That’s how we met, moron!”

“Is the professor single?”

“Goodbye!” On that note, Hop promptly steers them away, face red from all the whistling and hollering that follows. “Three you said!”

“It was fun.”

“You said _three_.”

“We had fun together on the last two.” Victor laughs. “Battling with you is the best.”

“What about against me?”

“That too. With you wins out, though. I think. I want ice cream.”

“Subtle subject change to get back into my good graces.” Hop rolls his eyes fondly. “You don’t even like ice cream.”

“Irrelevant.”

“You’re lucky I’m in the mood for some.”

“Am I forgiven?”

“As long as you pay for it.”

“I’m a gentleman.”

“You weren’t a gentleman a few minutes ago.”

“Anything to win.” Victor snickers gleefully. Roserade is assuredly doing the same in his pokéball. Sand attacking the opponent as a means of victory wasn’t below them, or most trainers really.

Still, _Hop_ felt guilty about it, and he hadn’t _done it_.

“A shining example of chivalry.” Hop drawls, exasperated by Victor’s shameless attitude. “Not that you’re the only one, but still.”

“You don’t do it. You’re a good person.” Victor feels the need to jump to his defense. “That’s why I like you.”

“Thanks, mate. I appreciate it. Now, about that ice cream.”

* * *

Victor gets him the sweetest thing on the menu, drizzled in chocolate, brownies and sprinkles, settling for plain vanilla himself.

“Why?”

“I like it.” Hop pouts, poking at the half eaten Vanillite shaped scoop. It isn’t the first time he’s thought about how morbid a sight it is. It isn’t the last time he’ll shrug it off in favor of indulging. “You’re not allowed to criticize me, anyway. You _bought_ _it_ for me.”

“Because you like it.” Victor grumbles, grimacing at his cone. “Why did I buy this?”

“Because I’d feel guilty if I was eating by myself.”

“What I do for you.”

“Yes, Victor, how you suffer for Galar’s sake.”

“No, just for you. Galar’s nice, but I don’t care about everyone.”

“If someone caught you saying that…”

“It’s true, though?” Victor frowns. “I care in general. Don’t want anyone hurt or in danger but. It’s impossible to care about everyone? I don’t _know_ everyone. I know _you_.”

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered.” Hop sighs. “That’s some cynicism.”

“No. You’re just a good person.” Victor takes a bite out of his cone without flinching. “S’why I like you.”

“So you’ve said.” Without thinking, Hop reaches over to wipe Victor’s mouth with a napkin. “I’m starting to get the impression you like me. Don’t know why.”

“Don’t mock my feelings.”

“Yes, mister champion, sir.”

“ _Hop_.”

* * *

“Are you and Lee not getting along?”

“It’s not that.”

“What is it, then?”

“Complicated.”

For all that he prides himself in understanding his best friend’s clipped responses, Hop isn’t entirely sure what Victor means by that. The moment he brought up stopping by the Battle Tower, Victor had all but clammed up, a distinct frown settling itself upon his face.

Hop understood their relationship to be fairly cordial, if not occasionally complicated given the inherent clash between the League’s wants and Victor’s unwillingness to be wrangled into doing anything he didn’t want to do (that’s how hop _knows_ he must like the gallade shtick somewhat), but neither Victor nor Leon ever spoke ill of one another, which is why he doesn’t understand why the former looks so upset.

“We can…not go? I can always stop by some other time.”

“No.” Victor responds firmly. “You want to. Let’s go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. He’s your brother.”

“Not sure what that has to do with anything.”

“Everything.” Victor stops to look him straight in the eye. “All of it.”

“Okay?”

Their arrival at the Battle Tower is met by a considerable amount of fanfare. Hop was hoping for a more discreet entrance, but traveling with champions was never discreet, not when one used to parade around in a cape and leggings and the other never bothered trying to disguise himself.

“Is Leon in?” He manages to ask the receptionist while Victor signs autographs. “If he’s unavailable, we can—“

“Head right in, Hopscot—I mean, Hop!” The woman hides a giggle behind her hand. “Word’s already traveled up. He’s expecting you.”

Expecting is the least of it.

The moment the elevator doors open, Leon’s already brandishing his cap menacingly.

“You’ve arrived at your greatest challenge yet!” Leon’s voice booms across the glistening field. “The highest level of this tower! Get ready to—“

“Not here for a battle, Lee!” Hop calls out. “Just wanted to say hi!”

“Can’t you play along with your big bro for just a little—“

“I’m not here to battle—“

“Just one—“

“ _Lee_ —“

“ _Hop_ —“

“I can leave—“

“No!” Leon instantly drops the facade, tucking his cap back onto his head. “Okay, _okay_. No battling. A hug instead?”

“That’s fine.” Not really, because Lee has the grip of a _Bewear_ and Hop’s ribs can only take so much. This time is no different, but since they haven’t seen each other in a while, he allows it for the sake of brotherhood. “How are you?”

“Brilliant, now that I’ve seen this adorable face of yours.” He pinches Hop’s cheeks for good measure. “Doing some sight seeing?”

“Something like that.” Hop laughs. “Vic and I are hanging out today.”

“Sounds fun!”

“It _was_.” Victor mutters.

“You know, Victor.” Leon addresses the champion loudly, a strange expression on his face. “When one has things they _must_ say, things of an _important_ nature, one _must_ say them, lest they fear the wrath of those above them.”

“You know, Leon.” Victor returns, his smile toxic. “When one doesn’t. Shut up. They don’t often remain alive. In certain. Situations.”

“Well, one must run these risks when one’s precious family is involved. Does one understand this? Because one is trying one’s patience by behaving in a manner unbefitting of one’s station.”

“I wasn’t aware. One. Was capable of such. Sophisticated language.”

“When one’s _partner_ is involved in academia, one picks up a few things. One’s _husband_ is a smart man, after all.”

“Didn’t one take. A decade and a half. To say anything?”

“One was busy!”

“ _Cowardly_.”

“One can say the same for one, can’t they?”

“Um…” Hop glances between his brother and friend, completely lost. “Is everything all right?”

“Hop.” Leon says without looking at him, locked in a heated stare-down with his successor. “You’re popular, aren’t you?”

“Not really.”

“Nonsense. The girls and boys in Wedgehurst are always asking after you, aren’t they?”

“To help with their homework, yeah. What does that—“

“You see, Victor.” Leon’s grin is vicious. “One’s precious one can find love, affection, and respect in many places. If one misses their opportunity, one will regret it.”

“Let’s go, Hop.” Victor abruptly turns on his heel and walks off. “Bye.”

“Tell him, Victor!” Leon calls after him. “Or you’ll see Charizard in your nightmares!”

“He likes me! And Duraludon is scarier! And Yamper!”

“That kid, I swear.” Leon mutters under his breath. “How do you deal with him?”

“How do I deal with any of this?” Hop questions, confused. “What just happened?”

“Nothing, Hopscotch. Go have fun, ‘kay?”

* * *

The rest of the day is rather subdued.

After their quick arrival and departure from the Battle Tower, Victor’s mood seems to plummet. Hop isn’t sure how to make it better, since he doesn’t understand what he and Leon were going on about in the first place.

They visit various tourist attractions, a few more stores, and take a stroll by the riverbank, none of which are successful at livening the mood in the least. Victor’s glum expression doesn’t help. He looks as though some heavy burden is weighing on him, as if there’s something that he wants to say but he simply can’t bring himself to. Hop _wants_ to help, but all he’s met with are clipped replies and swift denial.

By evening, all cheeriness has deserted Hop. He doesn’t blame anyone, but perhaps he should have been more adamant about not visiting the tower if it was going to put such a damper on everything.

“I should get going.” Hop says, eventually, when they arrive at the station. He’s disappointed in himself for being unable to salvage the day or follow through on what he set out to do. Dubwool and Zamazenta were sure to be upset, but what could he do? He wasn’t going to risk making everything infinitely more awkward and uncomfortable.

“Let’s do this again some other time. And, um, if Lee said something to bother you, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He can be insensitive sometimes, but he means well. He just…doesn’t always think before he speaks, so if it’s that, I can talk to him. If you want.”

“It’s not that.” Victor sighs. “It isn’t—I’m not angry at him.”

“Why are you upset, then?”

“I’m not.”

“Vic—“

“It’s _nothing_.” Victor’s smile is painfully forced. Hop considers pressing, asking more questions, but decides against it. Victor is an immovable object and Hop isn’t much of an unstoppable force. Not lately, at least.

“Okay.” He relents, quietly. “Guess I’ll get going. See ya.”

With a heavy heart, Hop begins the trek towards the ticket gates. Taking his phone from his pocket, he swipes it over the scanner. It makes a soft sound and lets him through. He hesitates slightly at the doors, glancing back.

Victor isn’t there anymore.

Not that it’s anything new.

Hop sighs and, reluctantly, heads home.

* * *

His mum greets him with a sympathetic smile, as if she _knows._

_(she does. a soft ‘i’m so sorry sweetie’ confirms it)_

They have a late cup of tea together before he retires to his room for the night.

He isn’t in the mood for anything else.

* * *

A continuous _tap tap tap_ wakes Hop from an otherwise uninterrupted sleep.

He groans, burying himself under his covers, hoping whatever rookidee was fussing over the bird feeder hanging from his window would take their fill or _go away_.

There’s silence for a few heavenly moments.

 _Tap tap tap_.

“For the love of—“ Hop tears his blankets off and stumbles out of bed. He didn’t _enjoy_ scaring innocent little rookidees away (that sort of attitude was reserved for skwovets), but he wanted to sleep. They could come back at a better hour, when he wasn’t grumpy and frustrated.

“ _Go away_.” He hisses, throwing the shutters open. “It’s too—“

“Early? Late?” The rookidee that isn’t actually a rookidee replies, hair a mess, baggy sweatshirt haphazardly thrown on.

“Vic?” Hop rubs his eyes, throwing a quick glance at his alarm clock. “Bloody hell, it’s late. What are you doing here?”

“It’s something.” Victor decides is a completely valid and totally comprehensible answer at three in the morning.

“What are you talking about?”

“I told you it was nothing. It wasn’t nothing. It was _something_.”

“What are you—Oh.” Hop frowns. “Couldn’t you have called me, y’know, later? During the day? To discuss this?”

“I couldn’t sleep. It was driving me spare. Can I come in? Noivern’s a little—“

“Sure, sure.” Hop steps back so Victor can jump into his bedroom. Noivern spares Hop a single affectionate nudge, hissing at her trainer. In a flash of red light, she forces her way back into her pokéball.

“She’s mad.” Victor states rather needlessly, tucking her into his pocket.

Hop scoffs.

“I gathered that. What’s up?”

“It was—“

“ _Something_. I know. Speed it up.”

“You’re _so mean_ when you wake up.”

“ _Victor_.”

“ _Okay_ , okay.” Victor takes a deep, steadying breath.

Hop counts to ten in his head.

He’s a patient and supportive friend. Patient and supportive. Patient and supportive. Patient and—

“Can we be boyfriends?”

—supportive?

“What.”

“I think I’ve wanted to be your boyfriend since I was eleven but didn’t understand it back then because what eleven year old understands affection beyond sharing your crayons or whatever and I just think you’re a really good bloke with a promising future in Pokémon research but that’s not the reason I want to be your boyfriend although I like that about you because it means you’re smart and inquisitive and ready to investigate things like dynamax theory which is ace but I like other things about you like your face and your hair because they’re really cute and adorable but also your personality you’re really kind and caring and don’t get mad when I don’t speak for extended periods of time and always make me smile and are generally just perfect so I’d appreciate it if we could be boyfriends because I think we make a good match unless you don’t think so if that’s true I’ll back off and we can pretend this was a weird fever dream on both our sides but if not yeah I’d like to take you out next weekend maybe to hammerlocke?”

Silence.

“Please?” Victor feels the need to tack on unnecessarily.

“I—“ Hop gapes. He’s at a complete loss of words over whatever verbal meltdown just assaulted his eardrums. “You like my hair?”

“Yes. It’s so cute, I want to eat it.”

“That’s strange, mate.”

“That’s debatable.”

“To each their own, I guess.” Hop rubs the back of his neck. “You want to date?”

“A lot. Like, hold hands and stuff. Hugs, too.”

“We do that sometimes.”

“Are we dating right now?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Can we?”

“Yes.” Hop blurts out, barely holding back a squee.

He’s sure there’s something to be said about how bizarrely his affection is being requited, but that’s simply the nature of their relationship in general. What sort of beginning to his love story would it be if it weren’t weird?

There’s no shiny rapidash, but there’s a shining future ahead of them.

Or something like that.

* * *

“Hello?”

“I did it.”

The call ends.

“Huh.” Leon blinks. “Good for him.”

“Who was that?” Raihan asks without looking up from his phone.

“Victor. He did it.”

“Good for him.” Raihan repeats. “Good for him."

**Author's Note:**

> hop's a cutie who deserves love and appreciation.
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
